


Home For Christmas

by Aris_Silverfin



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fatlock, Gen, Overeating, Weight Gain, chubby!mycroft, gaining!mycroft, soft squishy tum, too many delicious christmas things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 03:46:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2836922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aris_Silverfin/pseuds/Aris_Silverfin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a Prompt: Chubby, young, Mycroft eating constantly while home from uni at Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home For Christmas

Mycroft wasn't sure how this had started.

Rarely was he unsure about anything, so this frustrated him quite a bit, which only seemed to make the problem escalate.

This problem involved countless Christmas cookies Mummy insisted on baking, all the sweets lying around on pretty plates, peppermint hot chocolate with whipped cream, delicious dishes of warm hearty stews, loads of mashed potatoes and gravy, and these stupid sticky icing coated buns his mother seemed to make every other day for breakfast. The problem culminated in Mycroft hardly being able to button his trousers anymore. It had been bad enough at university with a too extravagant meal plan and all those decadent desserts. His last week had been spent studying in the library or his dormitory, eating whatever snacks he had sneaked out of the dining hall or been sent in care packages. He knew he had gone a bit soft then, but had been more concerned about his grades. It turned out he needn't have bothered with all that studying really. The exams were stupidly easy. Which he should have expected. He was endlessly surrounded by people with no more thought than a goldfish. By the end of that week, however, Mycroft had noticed that his stomach seemed to arch out further than it used to as he showered. It seemed softer when he folded his hands over it in bed. It seemed more prone to jiggle as well, bouncing along as he strode purposefully to his destination(usually the cafe).

He should have stopped then, gone back on his self-imposed diet from the summer before. But he just couldn't bring himself to do it. They always served such marvelous cakes... And diets were such a misery.

But then, Mycroft was home and his clothing was uncomfortably snug. And yet that still didn't stop him. He snacked from all the prettily arranged trays of chocolates, pretzels, nuts, and marzipan, emptying them one by one with little thought as he read or browsed the internet. He'd have seconds at dinner, having missed his mother's cooking while he was away, then have a large helping of whatever dessert that was provided. He pointedly ignored his brother's raised eyebrow and that smug little smirk. Just because he wasn't having any didn't mean that Mycroft should miss out on pudding. Even if he had to undo his trousers to fit it in. He could go back on his diet at school or after Christmas. For now, he deserved a little indulgence.

Mummy seemed to bake a new treat every day and Mycroft was happy to sample and then steal a tin to take back to his room. They always turned up empty somehow. When his trousers finally couldn't close, his pale soft belly oozing out proudly onto his thighs, Mycroft decided a little switch to oranges and mandarins might do him well. That resolve ended the very next day as his mother had made fresh gingerbread.

Christmas day finally came and Mycroft ate heartily. He took thirds at Christmas dinner, feeling so replete he feared he might have to roll off to his room afterwards. Sherlock sneered at his belly which was very nearly winning the battle with the buttons of his Christmas waistcoat. Mycroft only burped primly in response and waddled over to relax on the sofa with some chocolates until it was time for presents.

Mycroft lay in his bed that night, overfull, content, his stomach gurgling and arching up under his covers. He muffled a burp and gave it a slow rub. Well. Christmas was a special occasion. It would be over soon, he reasoned, might as well make the most of it.

He sat up with a soft grunt, one hand on his belly, then padded softly down to the kitchen for the rest of the rice pudding. By the time Mycroft was ready to go back to university, he had to entirely replace his wardrobe. Somehow, he didn't mind half as much as he had before.


End file.
